


the only place worth being

by celestialfics



Category: Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Crushes, F/F, Hockey, Ice Skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21889045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialfics/pseuds/celestialfics
Summary: “Skate with me.”Kate tilts her head curiously, but America offers no further explanation. Instead, she picks up her skates from where they’d been leaning against the wall and walks out of the locker room, leaving Kate to follow.
Relationships: Kate Bishop/America Chavez
Comments: 1
Kudos: 42





	the only place worth being

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! i wrote this for the [Women of Marvel](https://marvelwomenzine.tumblr.com/) zine, which was a great project to be a part of :) there will probably be leftover sales in february, so if that interests you, keep an eye on the blog!
> 
> title from cold cold man by saint motel <3

The bench is cold against the backs of Kate’s thighs as she sits down to lace up her skates, though the chill is nothing she isn’t accustomed to. It seems she’s here at the rink more than she’s at home these days, but it’s not like anyone’s at home to notice her absence. Her father constantly leaves on business trips and her sister moved out with her new husband a few months ago, leaving the house barren. The rink feels more like home.

Next to Kate, her childhood friend Cassie is chattering away on the bench—something about an experiment she’d done in her biology class yesterday—but Kate’s attention is caught elsewhere. The two of them can’t get on the rink yet because the hockey team is practicing, and Kate’s eyes never drift far from the goalie. Her name is America Chavez, and she plays with a fierce yet calm intensity: limbs make only the most controlled of movements, curly black hair bounces against her back with the momentum of her body, hockey pucks meet their end at the face of her stick. Kate’s talked to America plenty of times before in passing, but usually just to compliment her playing style—the abrasive, unforgiving way she faces the rink. Kate’s seen America bring girls to watch her practice, though the hockey coach hates that because America gets distracted, leaning nonchalantly against the rink’s railing with a girl on the other side making eyes at her. Each time it happens, Kate looks on discreetly with a feeling she doesn’t quite want to face swirling around her chest.

Right now, though, America’s crouched in front of the goal in a nearly absurd amount of padding, though it’s not at all absurd when the speed of the pucks being shot at her is taken into account. The shots are relentless as her teammates practice aim, and still she dives for each one, a resounding crack echoing off of her equipment every time.

America’s stance taunts Kate even from here; she owns the ice. Even though Kate’s never truly picked up a hockey stick save for a few times with friends, she almost wants to take a shot at the goal America’s guarding.

Suddenly, there are fingers snapping in Kate’s face, ripping her from her reverie. Cassie laughs at the way Kate jumps before she says, “Katherine Bishop, I swear I could’ve just told you that my dad discovered time travel and you wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. You gotta talk to her.”

Kate snorts and then shakes her head, ignoring the way the tips of her ears heat from embarrassment. Before she can pick up the conversation, though, the hockey coach shouts something and the team begins to skate off the rink. It’s a co-ed group, and the players good-naturedly bump into each other as they step out and get to the benches to take off their skates. America is last, sliding her helmet off and shaking out her hair, allowing it to return to its natural volume after having been restricted by her helmet. She catches Kate looking and winks at her before joining her team.

Feeling the blood that’s rushed to her cheeks, Kate turns her head from a bemused Cassie and coughs. By the time the hockey team has cleared out into the locker rooms, the zamboni has finished going over the ice, and Kate and Cassie, along with a few other skaters that have congregated around the rink entrance, can begin their own practice.

The ice meets Kate’s skates and she easily glides to the center of the rink, letting the slight chill seep into her. The purple jacket she’s wearing protects her from feeling cold, and as she tilts her head to the overhead lighting she can feel her hair—which is gathered up into a sleek ponytail—tickling the back of her neck. Before she starts her routine, she takes in a deep breath and lowers her gaze, catching sight of America, who must’ve just returned from the locker room. She looks much smaller without her bulky goalie attire, but to say that she looks _small_ would be misleading—America is six feet tall with defined muscles, which are especially prominent now that she’s wearing shorts and a tank top. The clothing is far too lightweight for being inside the rink, but after just practicing as hard as she did, Kate doubts America feels cold.

America props her arms on the bench behind her and leans back as Kate begins to skate. Kate feels the eyes trained on her, but people watching her has always helped her to feel more confident.

Her skates slice against the ice as she picks up speed and jumps, landing with her arms spread on each side of her like wings. She creates a rhythm with her footwork, lacing lines in the gleaming ice into and through each other.

The routine is far from flawless, as Kate has a lot of practicing to do before the qualifying competitions in the summer, but she feels satisfied with her progress thus far. The practice she’s putting in is clearly paying off, and she grins to herself at that fact before she flings herself into the routine again.

By the time Kate’s finished practicing for the night, America’s gone from the rink. Actually, everyone’s gone but Cassie, and she decides to do a few extra laps while Kate steps off, untying her skates and slipping on her shoes. The floor feels too solid under her feet and she focuses on the sensation, shifting her weight from one foot to the other before she heads to the locker room.

When she enters, she’s startled to see America leaning against the tiled wall, arms crossed over her chest. Kate narrows her eyes at America for a moment, confused on why she’s still around. The rest of the hockey players are long gone by now, but here she stands.

As Kate begins to walk past, America calls, “Hey, Bishop.”

Kate looks back over her shoulder, heart jumping to her throat, and replies, “Yeah?”

“You tired?” America asks, standing up straight and rolling her shoulders back.

Kate raises an eyebrow. “I just finished practicing,” she says in lieu of an answer.

“Right, but are you tired?”

After contemplating this for a moment, Kate responds, donning a playful grin, “Depends on what you’re asking me to do.”

“Skate with me.”

Kate tilts her head curiously, but America offers no further explanation. Instead, she picks up her skates from where they’d been leaning against the wall and walks out of the locker room, leaving Kate to follow. Kate blinks at the space where America had been standing for a moment, shocked in a way that makes her chest feel hot.

Just after America walks out, Cassie walks in. Apparently she doesn’t expect Kate to be standing right by the door and not by her locker on the other side of the room, as she swings open the door and begins to call, “Kate—”

Kate laughs as Cassie lets out a small, “Oh,” and then continues, “What’s America doing?”

After shrugging, Kate says, “She wants to skate.”

“Fair enough,” Cassie replies, though she lowers her gaze to the skates Kate still holds in her grasp and then continues, “And what are _you_ doing?”

Kate clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth and says, “I want to skate.”

Cassie huffs amusedly and waves Kate off on her way.

When Kate enters the rink again, the lights have been noticeably dimmed and the sound system quieted from its usual radio noise. All Kate hears is blades on ice and all she sees is America weaving her way around the rink, bathed in blue light.

The way America skates is mesmerizing in a way that’s different from figure skaters. She has a heavier momentum, leaves deeper cuts in the ice. Her movement isn’t quite graceful, but it’s still beautiful in a strange way, her arms, legs, and torso working in tandem to propel her steadily across the ice.

Kate’s reluctant to join her only in case it would screw with her rhythm, but as soon as America catches sight of Kate, she slows to a stop near the rink entrance. She watches as Kate ties her skates on again, and then she says, “I’d never get off the rink when I was a kid. I wanted to do—to be like the skaters I saw on the TV, jumping and spinning and that. Just about bruised my ass off trying, but I learned eventually it wasn’t for me.”

Kate blinks up at America, unsure how to respond. She stands and joins America on the ice, letting herself drift for a moment.

“Then my mom showed me hockey. Picture it: a seven-year-old Latina decked in full hockey gear, growling at the boys who got too close to the net. I loved it.” America starts to skate away, but she turns around and moves backwards, eyes still on Kate. Her eyes are full of an intensity Kate can’t read.

“So not too different from now,” Kate responds, teasing grin pulling at her lips.

America laughs at that, now skating in loose circles around Kate. “Right, yeah. But I never thought I’d want to try figure skating again—and, well, being honest, I don’t, not really—except I do want to try it, just with you.”

Kate skates towards America, swallowing back her nerves and grabbing ahold of America’s hands until they’re both standing still in the center of the rink. “Why me?” Kate asks, looking from their clasped hands up to America’s face, her blue eyes meeting America’s deep brown ones.

America grins, all teeth. “There’s something special about you, Bishop. You own the ice.”

Kate’s eyebrows raise in surprise at the statement, but she takes it in her stride and begins to dance with America. “I don’t usually pair skate,” she comments, but America doesn’t seem to mind it, watching Kate’s feet and trying to mimic the action.

They move in tandem for a few strides, both hands still clasped together. Then, Kate lets go, whirling around America with her arms open and angled, one curved over her head. America extends her own arm so that the tips of their fingers hook together, and they spin around that point of connection for a moment until Kate breaks the contact, allowing herself to build enough momentum for a jump. The cut of the ice under her is familiar in this situation that is not, and she kicks off into the jump with confidence coursing through her veins. She lands successfully and with a flourish before she circles around to America again, reaching out a hand and basking in the awed look on America’s face. When America grasps her hand, Kate spins herself under America’s arm before, in an act of impulsive confidence, she pulls America back towards her and leans her into a dip.

America stares up at Kate with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted as her gaze darts around Kate’s face. Kate smiles back at her, almost breathless, before America says, “Usually this is where I’d ask someone to dinner.”

Laughter bubbles out from Kate’s chest as she guides America back up, her hands resting on the small of America’s back. A moment passes, just breathing, until Kate pulls away, the sounds of her skates echoing around the empty rink.

“So,” Kate says, “Dinner?”

America’s resulting smile is soft, glowing. “Sure thing, princess.” 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/liquidsaints) & [tumblr](http://liquidsaints.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thanks for reading! <3


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